Marianne and I were invited to a cookie exchange party that was being thrown by some former co-workers. For those of you who don’t know about these types of parties, let me break it down: A Cookie Exchange is a “party” in which women (it’s always women, men don’t fall for this bullshit) each bring dozens of homemade cookies, and every guest swaps a dozen cookies. For example, if there are 10 guests, each woman brings 10 dozen homemade cookies and at the end of the party, each woman leaves with 10 dozen different batches of cookies. These parties always happen at Christmastime. The idea being that all these cookies will get you through the Christmas season. We all are buying into the idea now that women should pull out a plate of homemade cookies for guests who drop by. I don’t know who these guests are who unexpectedly drop by, but thank god they know not to drop by my house. I have been known to not answer my door, fyi. Anyway, the slacker throwing this particular party decided that each of us only needed to bring one dozen cookies, and we would take home only one dozen various cookies. Marianne and I didn’t really see the point in it, and of course had to bitch about it in a text exchange. Merry Christmas! (I know it’s April- go to hell.)
Lisa: Are you making cookies for that party?
Marianne: Yes. You?
Lisa: Yes. Only a dozen? I’m not sure they understand the point of a cookie exchange.
Marianne: I think we’re not doing a true cookie exchange.
Lisa: I know but what am I supposed to do with only one of each type? Just eat them right then and there, I guess?
Marianne: I think it’s just to get everyone to have only one of each different type of cookie, thank god.
Lisa: Yeah, but how awesome would I be if I sat down with a plate and ate every cookie while I was at the party?
Marianne: You know you and I will have the yummiest cookies there. You probably won’t even want to eat the rest.
Lisa: Yes but I’ll do it just to make a scene.
Marianne: That’s my plan. You’re gonna see me fall on those cookies like a jackal.
Lisa: Ha! Let’s make a total spectacle of ourselves.
Marianne: Yes! I’m going to eat them like the Cookie Monster. Crumbs everywhere. Me want cookies!
Lisa: Those we don’t like, let’s throw in the fireplace. “Who made THIS shit?” (whips cookie into the fireplace)
Marianne: “Which one of you fucking hippies made these gluten-free cookies?!” (slings cookie into fireplace like a track & field discus)
Lisa: Is there any way we can meet up beforehand and be drunk by the time we get there?
Marianne: I know. I was thinking of making bourbon balls instead of cookies for that very reason.
Lisa: Because I want to jump straight from being awesome and go straight to being superfuckingawesome. Mmmmm, buuuurrrrrrbuuuuunnnnnnn.
Marianne: Totally, and there’s nothing more awesome than two grown women showing up drunk to a wholesome cookie exchange party.
Lisa: We fucking rock. People would stand in awe.
Marianne: I know. I hope Carl isn’t expecting me to bring any cookies home.
Lisa: Fuck THAT. He can go to his own goddamned cookie party.
Marianne: Yeah. Plus there’s only a dozen and that’s not enough to share.
I realize that fans of this blog come here to laugh. Bear with me while I blog about something that’s no laughing matter. Or, don’t bear with me. That’s ok, too.
A few disclaimers, before I begin.
1-I am a huge NFL football fan. I love the game. I love the players, the strategy, the awesomeness of a great defensive line, the beauty of a tightly thrown spiral, the game-winning field goal; I love it all.
But I also love what it means in my life. A way to bond with men, starting with my dad, when I was a kid. Maybe we don’t talk about things that other dads and daughters do, and that’s ok. We talk about football. We play fantasy football together. Maybe it’s fitting that this past weekend, our teams played each other. He’s currently winning, but I have RG3 tonight, so anything’s possible.
Men like to talk about football, and I like to talk to men. I like to hang out with men. I’m a “Guys’ Girl.” I like guy things. I got my husband into fantasy football, and really, football altogether, when we started dating. (He used to strictly be a Cowboys fan, poor thing.) And while we are on the topic of my husband, I want to say that he has never acted in any violent or abusive way towards me. He barely has a temper, and he is always sweet and gentle with me. I am safe with him.
2- I have never liked Bob Costas. I don’t understand why he’s NBC Sports’ favorite son. They trot him out with every sporting event they televise, when there are so many other people who might be better qualified. He can’t be an expert in EVERY sport, can he? Plus, I find him smarmy, condescending, and just plain annoying.
3- I’m conflicted about gun control. I don’t disagree with the idea that having a gun makes people quicker to violence. But I also own a gun, and wouldn’t hesitate to use it on someone who came into my house and was a threat to my family’s safety. Do there need to be more restrictions on guns? I don’t know. But I’m from Texas, born and raised; of course I am pro-second amendment.
Now that those are out of the way, here’s what I really want to talk about. This past weekend, Kansas City Chiefs Linebacker Jovan Belcher shot and killed his girlfriend, Kasandra Perkins, and then himself. The Chiefs went ahead and played on Sunday (and won). They held a moment of silence tribute before the game, “to honor victims of domestic violence.”
During halftime of the Sunday Night Football game, Bob Costas took to the air to deliver a little sports commentary, as he does every Sunday night. He used this opportunity to lash out against guns. Quoting heavily from Fox Sports’ Jason Whitlock’s column about the incident (the main points of which were that the NFL should have cancelled the game, and that guns make people more violent), he went on a rant about “perspective,” and “gun culture.” He then quoted Whitlock: “If Javon Belcher didn’t possess a gun, he and Kasandra Perkins would both be alive today.”
Here’s why people like Jason Whitlock and Bob Costas just don’t get it. While it might be true that Belcher might be alive today, Kasandra Perkins wouldn’t. He was on a mission to kill her. And whether she wound up choked, stabbed, bludgeoned, or any number of other violent ends, he was going to kill her.
Why isn’t this a discussion about violence against women? Why don’t people like Costas and Whitlock cut the crap and begin to talk about the real issue? Why does this boil down to a gun issue? Why aren’t we talking about what kind of monster Jovan Belcher must have been to commit such violence, and leave his three-month-old baby an orphan?
Why do we continue to put the onus on women? We say things like, “Why didn’t she leave?” instead of things like, “Why do men commit violence against women?” Why? We hold classes and seminars to teach women things like how to avoid violence, how to avoid being raped, how to fight off an attacker. All of us women who went to college had to sit through a freshman orientation on these topics. When are we going to start the orientation that tells men that this kind of behavior is intolerable? When do we put the responsibility where it belongs, on men who are violent?
Here’s what I wish Bob Costas would have said:
That it’s not acceptable to kill your girlfriend.
That it’s not acceptable to hit your girlfriend.
That it’s not acceptable to push and shove your girlfriend, bite or scratch or kick your girlfriend, slap your girlfriend, throw her out of a car, pull her hair, throw things at her, call her names, threaten her, make her feel afraid of you, intimidate her, ANY of it. ANY OF IT.
We’ve all heard the argument that being an NFL player makes a man more violent. It’s a violent game, and it’s hard to “turn that off” after Sunday. You know what? FIND A WAY. And you know what else? Plenty of men who don’t play in the NFL abuse their wives and girlfriends. Growing up in a house with violence makes men more violent, too. It’s time that we as a society take a stand and say, out loud, that it’s not acceptable. For anyone. THAT is the issue. Not gun control, not football being a violent sport, not whether or not the game should have been played. Women, and the fact that it’s never okay to inflict violence on them, should be the topic.
A moment of silence isn’t enough. There’s too much silence, already. It’s time to start making noise.
Backstory: Marianne had a friend over, and talked turned to sleeping with a celebrity. Of course it did. Anyway, here’s what happened next:
Marianne: Would you have sex with Jack Black?
Lisa: Yes. All day.
Marianne: Of fucking course.
Lisa: He’s going to give it his all.
Marianne: Rachel is over and she is trying to tell me that he’s disgusting.
Lisa: Oh no.
Marianne: She was like, text Lisa and ask her if she would.
She was convinced you would say no.
Lisa: Well, she has no idea the depths I would go to.
Marianne: See, that’s why you and I are as one.
Lisa: I think that anyone who is not self-conscious at all is going to be good at it.
Marianne: That’s what I said!
Lisa: You know me.
Marianne: Not self conscious at all.
Lisa: You know it.
Willing to make a fool of himself.
Marianne: Yep. That charm goes a long way.
Lisa: Who would she do it with?
Marianne: Well, I just asked her and her husband said “Lenny Kravitz”
Lisa: Well, yeah! Dirty hot.
Marianne: I mean, who wouldn’t?
Now she says Jake Gyllenhaal
Lisa: Way to go out on a limb.
Marianne: She says Adam Levine
Lisa: I think she’s missing the point. The game is to say who is the most “disgusting” guy you’d get up on. Not to pick obvious choices.
Marianne: Ok, she just redeemed herself, she said Jason Segel.
Lisa: WHAT. HE’S NOT DISGUSTING.
That’s my celebrity boyfriend! No no no!
I’m about to get into my car and haul ass over there to regulate.
Marianne: She said he’s not a traditional pick.
She’s saying “What does Lisa want me to say, Dan Akroyd?”
Marianne: I know.
Lisa: Someone along the lines of Jack Black.
Marianne: She says Eminem.
Now she says P Diddy.
Lisa: Ok, better. P Diddy is revolting. Good call.
Marianne: Then she tried to throw out Usher. I said he’s too mainstream.
Lisa: WAY too cute.
Marianne: What about Mickey Rourke?
Lisa: Ugh. Wait. From The Wrestler, or from Diner?
Marianne: The Wrestler.
Lisa: Ugh! No. But Diner, YES. LOTS.
What about Steve Buscemi?
Marianne: See, I like Steve Buscemi.
I mean, he’s ugly, but somehow it all works.
Lisa: Yeah. Me too.
Marianne: Steven Tyler?
Lisa: Oh no. But not because he’s so gross! It’s more because I hate Aerosmith so much.
Marianne: Yes! Me too! That Livin on the Edge bullshit hurts my eardrums.
Lisa: Congratulations, Aerosmith. Over a 30-year career, you have about 3 decent songs.
Marianne: Yes. The rest can go fuck themselves.
Lisa: What about Slash?
Marianne: Oh hell yes. I would.
Lisa: Me too.
Marianne: Adam Duritz from Counting Crows?
Lisa: Well, Jennifer Aniston did.
Marianne: I thought that was Courteney Cox?
Marianne: I say yes. I love him.
Lisa: Well he’s obviously got something up his sleeve. Ok.
Marianne: Flava Flav?
Marianne: Me neither. We might have just found the limit.
Lisa: Oh that face. GAG.
Marianne: His teeth hurt my heart.
Marianne: He makes my eyes go on suicide watch.
Lisa: Yes, he’s the screen saver on my virtual reality murder-suicide weekend.
Marianne: Ha! Yes. “Here, look at this while I quietly stab you. Shhh.”
Lisa: Look at this face until you black out and then you won’t feel a thing.
Marianne: What if he was wearing his giant clock?
Wait. Can I use the clock to cover up his face?
Marianne: Yes? But still. He’s so tiny.
Lisa: Yeah. No way. Even if I had a weird obsession with clocks.
What about Donald Trump?
Marianne: BLEECH it would be like having sex with a giant lizard.
Lisa: HA! Gross.
Marianne: Paul Giamatti?
Lisa: Yes, I would. Right away.
Marianne: Oh, me too. He’s gonna try really hard.
Lisa: Yes, and then be all sad-sacky and love you so much. Like in Sideways.
Marianne: Aww, he’s probably so sweet.
Adam Sandler? I totally would.
Lisa: Oh no. But not because I think he’s so gross. It’s more the Aerosmith effect. His movies are so dumb and he’s so unfunny that I say an adamant no.
Keith Richards? Ugh.
Marianne: No way. He’s way too frail. Plus he looks like an extra on The Golden Girls.
Marianne: Now we’re playing same-sex hookup.
Lisa: Listen, if y’all don’t land on Gina Gershon in Bound, I give up.
Marianne: She says Michelle Williams.
Lisa: That’s acceptable.
Marianne: No way. Catherine Zeta Jones, in Traffic. FOREVER.
Okay, friends. Now it’s your turn! Spill your shameful secrets!
So, everybody is playing Words With Friends. And so are we! We love it. To put our own little twist on the game, we add in the extra challenge of using each word we play in a sentence, and texting it to each other (of course). The following are sentences, and sometimes conversations, we have had while playing everyone’s favorite waste of time, Words With Friends. See if you can pick out the played word from each sentence!
Who needs a bal punch?
I can’t help but to gripe about Polly. She sucks.
I feel the same way about Milli. I want to pelt her with rocks.
You must have loved her at one time.
I probably did. but now hatred has a firm grip on my heart.
Drinking at 10 am. Yea or nay?
Ahi tuna can kiss my ass.
The farmer baled his hay. Then fed it to his wife.
When I see my neighbors coming, I pull up the welcome mat.
Then do you say, “Lisa no aqui!”
Haha! I’ve trimmed my hedges into a maize so hopefully they can’t find the front door.
Neighbors are a tad bit annoying.
Sometimes my freckles look like chicken pox.
Whenever there’s cake, I’ve got dibs.
You might have to qi that waiter’s car just so she knows what’s up.
Tell her she better stay away from my man. And my cake.
I was goin’ real fas and then I lost control and hit a dumpster.
Lo and fucking behold, here’s Milli’s ass again.
Maybe she can redeem herself if she would learn to howl the Ave Maria.
Wag your tail, Polly, and sweep everything off of the coffee table. You stupid bitch.
You should make her eat her own turd.
She’s like a big yeti, loping around the room.
The ax made a dull thud when I hit my neighbor in the head with it.
Anyone who has sex with Santonio Holmes is in for a world of hurt.
Their vagina will never feel safe again.
Ode to my neighbors: I hate you.
Most def! They can go fuck themselves! With Santonio’s penis.
Wee! Drinking on the patio!
When deciding whether or not to have another drink. I always err on the side of too much.
Word. I’m totally tipsy.
Ka you tell if I’m slurring my words?
Er, no. You’re fine.
George Clooney always wants to stae the night, but I have to throw him out before B. gets home.
As I was starting my car, I realized that I had forgotten my kids.
Zas why you shouldn’t day drink.
Ore is short for Oreos. Pass me some ores.
Every day I check the Dow. And then I remember that I don’t know what the Dow is.
WARNING! The following text exchange may offend some of our male readers.
You should know that one of the presents in Lisa’s Christmas stocking last year was a pair of kitchen shears.
You should also know that Polly is Lisa’s dog. And that she is a giant, disgusting German Shepherd.
Lisa: Dude, I just got out of my Dr. appt.
Marianne: How did that go?
Lisa: Not good. Guess what that fucker wants me to do before I get that uterine ablation?
Lisa: A saline sonogram. Have you heard of this?
Marianne: No and it sounds horrific.
Lisa: They fill up your uterus with a bunch of saline, take a biopsy and do a sonogram.
Lisa: Because my period is like the fucking Exxon Valdez in volume and duration , and he wants to make sure nothing else is going on.
Marianne: Haha. Ugh. How the hell do they get the saline in there?!
Lisa: I don’t know!
Marianne: Oh, shit. You didn’t ask?
Lisa: No. I was too focused on my uterus being used as a water balloon.
Marianne: Dude, I can’t believe you didn’t ask him how it gets in there!
Lisa: Drinking straw? Screwed to the top of a 2-liter of salt water?
Marianne: “Hold this bottle up in the air until you feel your uterus start to explode”
You need to have a special treat for yourself afterwards. Or you can get drunk before you go.
Lisa: I plan on drinking throughout the procedure, actually. And eating.
Marianne: Set up a Bloody Mary bar in the corner of the sono room.
And your doctor better rub your feet during the procedure and put you up in a hotel after.
Marianne: “Sorry about your uterus, Lisa. Please accept my apology in the form of this nice hotel room.”
Lisa: He wanted to make sure that there’s permanent birth control. I told him that he could bet his little ass that Brad will be getting a vasectomy.
Marianne: Why? What does that matter?
Lisa: Because he says that if I were to get pregnant after the ablation, the pregnancy couldn’t survive.
Marianne: Isn’t that the point?
Lisa: Haha! One of them, definitely.
Marianne: He’d better go get that vasectomy done. Or else you might have to do it for him while he’s asleep one night.
Lisa: I feel like I could do it pretty easily because I’ve seen some diagrams. I do know my way around a penis.
Marianne: All you need is a medical assistant. I nominate Polly.
Lisa: Well, she does know sterile technique.
Marianne: You could use those kitchen shears he got you last year.
Lisa: Yeah, Brad, little did you know that I would use those Christmas Scissors to lovingly cut your dick open.
Marianne: Note to Brad: Jewelry in the stocking next year helps to avoid bodily harm.
Here is a text exchange from the vault. Apparently, we were texting during a Sunday night football game. Enjoy!
Lisa: We are having Thanksgiving about 11, but just let me know when/ if y’all want to come over. You know there’s 3 games that day whoop whoop.
Marianne: Oh damn! I thought there were just 2! Exxxxcellent
Lisa: I know! We truly do have something to be thankful for this year.
Marianne: Yes! Carl is sitting here trying to figure out who in the Cowboys’ division is doing worse than them. He’s dreaming of a wildcard spot in the playoffs.
Dreaming is the right word.
Lisa: Oh lord. Give it up, my friend.
Marianne: I know. Lost cause. I don’t care how many devil gingy coaches you have.
Lisa: Those gingys are a wily bunch though. Sneaky. So you never know I guess.
Marianne: That’s true. Red heathens
Lisa: The red menace.
If I have to watch one more Geico commercial…
Lisa: No shit. Or Progressive. DISCOUNT!!
Discount THIS, bitch!
Marianne: LOL I’m reading our texts to Carl. Your last one cracked him (and me) up.
Lisa: I still can’t get over the way Vick played the other night. What a badass.
Marianne: I know! He’s my new ebony fox. Ebony pitbull.
Lisa: Ha! Ebony pup.
Oh, fuck. Geico commercial.
Suck 15% of my dick, Geico.
Lisa: I heart Cris Collinsworth.
Marianne: Dude, We are SOOO Simpatico! I was just saying this, “Cris Collinsworth! I love you! Holler at your girl!”
Lisa: Holla! SNF has the best announcers.
Marianne: Then I proceeded to say to Carl “You know why I love Cris Collinsworth? Aside from the obvious? He’s also a lawyer.”
Lisa: He’s a lawyer?
Marianne: Yes, girl. But in an awesome way, not a douchey way.
He’s too smart to be JUST a football player/ announcer.
Lisa: That’s a real thing? A male lawyer who’s not a doucher?
Marianne: I know it’s hard to believe. It’s a rare thing.
Marianne: Yeah. It’s cool. He’s my skinny fox.
Lisa: Lots of foxes these days.
Marianne: Yeah. Football makes me crazy.
Lisa: I need a voodoo doll for watching football.
We can all share it.
Marianne: Yeah. Is Maclin fucking with me right now?
Catch that pass, bi-atch!
Lisa: He’d better pull his weight for my big league.
Marianne: Yeah. Or get ready for a kick in the asshole, right?
Lisa: I was so drunk last night, I downloaded a song by Demi Lovato. WTF.
You’re an alcoholic
It got into my head at barre class and wouldn’t get out.
I’m out of control, obv.
Marianne: It wasn’t even WHILE YOU WERE DRINKING?
Lisa: That I bought it? No, I did that after I was hammered.
But every time I’ve heard it, stone cold sober.
Marianne: No I mean you weren’t listening to it while you were drinking
Lisa: Oh I bought it and then forced Brad to listen to it drunk.
I think he was a little bit frightened.
Marianne: Oh brad
Lisa: “Lisa, that’s kiss fm bullshit.”
Like he doesn’t listen to kiss fm.
Marianne: Uh fucking YEAH
I KNOW his little ass listens to kiss fm
Lisa: Oh go judge me while you listen to Shots, BRAD.
He fucking LOVES that song.
Marianne: “ooh I love this song! I first heard it at a RAVE.”
Lisa: HAHA. Go listen to some New Order, fool.
That’s the sucky part about exercise class. The shitty music that ends up stuck in my head.
That’s how I got started on Beyonce
Lisa: Exercise class is the gateway.
Marianne: Ha! It is.
This is a text exchange that happened the morning of Marianne’s baby shower. Enjoy!
Lisa: Hey what’s the dress code today?
Marianne: Well I’m wearing a ball gown and a tiara
Lisa: I was going to dress like Snooki, if that’s ok?
Marianne: Of course. That’s preferred, actually.
Lisa: Also, where is the restaurant?
Marianne: It’s across from La Duni in the mall. I’m wearing a dress and boots
Lisa: Ok I’ll wear a dress too.
Where’s the best place to park then?
Marianne: Umm. I think I usually park near Macy’s.
Lisa: Ok thanks
(Ten minutes later)
Lisa: Can I wear jeans?
I know you don’t give a fuck what I wear. But I’m worried about being shunned by your grandmother.
Marianne: Don’t worry about being shunned by her.
That woman hasn’t worn a dress since 1955
Lisa: Ok cool. I know you’re used to her wrath but I’m not. I’m a little scared.
Marianne: She’ll in black jeans, a black shirt and some kind of shawl/sweater combo
Mark my words.
Lisa: Sweet. Been a while since I’ve seen a sweater twinset.
Marianne: Just wear what you want Jeans make me feel sausage-y or I’d be wearing them too
Lisa: Ok then.
My hair is very Kyle Richards-ey.
Marianne: Well you know I her hair It has a native American appeal
Lisa: What would it be called if a sausage and a muffin had a baby?
Because that’s me in jeans
Note: At the beginning of this exchange, we are discussing the Real Housewives of Orange County reunion show. Please note how we discuss these people as if we know them personally. We have an addiction, obviously. But these are still worthwhile observations that should be recorded for posterity.
Lisa: I’m so glad they showed that clip of Brooks saying the bomb dot com.
Marianne: I know! He’s a fucking spectacle
Lisa: He really is.
Dude Vicki is SUCH a BITCH.
What a cunt!
Marianne: I know. I HAAATTTEEE her
Lisa: She’s the fucking WORST
Don was having an affair for 20 years? WTF?
Marianne: Yeah right. That’s horse shit.
Even if he was, she deserved it. Fucking whore
Lisa: That this whore sits there and says her daughter was lying when she was out there?!?!!!
I’ve never seen anything like it. Brooks and Vicki deserve each other.
Brianna needs to tell her to fuck off PERMANENTLY
Lisa: I can’t believe they’re all living together!
Marianne: I know. HORROR. Maybe Vicki can have an “accident” while they’re living together.
Like a fall down the stairs or an unfortunate and deadly incident with the blender
Lisa: That’s a good idea.
Maybe hit her head and fall in the pool and drown
Lisa: So how’s it going over there?
Marianne: One fucking thing after the other. My car battery died Tuesday while I was at the park with the kids and it was a million degrees out
And apparently since its a Volkswagen the battery is under the drivers seat
Lisa: Jesse Christ.
Marianne: It costs 350 American dollars to replace
Lisa: WHAT. FOR A BATTERY???!!!!
Marianne: I love “Jesse Christ”
That’s Jesus’ younger fuckup of a brother
Lisa: Me too. That’s why I left it.
He’s the one who lays on the couch all day in his bathrobe. Hitting his bong and watching Judge Judy.
Marianne: HAHA! Yes.
But other than that things are fine
Lisa: Well it sounds awesome.
Marianne: How are you? Still on death’s door?
Lisa: Yes. Goddamned augmentin hasn’t done jack shit. Going back to the dr at 3:15. I feel worse than ever.
Marianne: Good god.
Please tell me you’re laying down
Lisa: Uh, no. How would that be possible?
The doctor Sunday night told me to rest and I laughed in his stupid face.
Marianne: You should have been like “okay. I’ll drop my kids by your house around 6:00. They’ll need dinner. THANKS.”
Lisa: Yeah! He’s probably like, what’s the big deal? I just lie down whenever I feel like it, at my house.
Of course you do. You’re a dude.
Meanwhile his wife is cooking dinner and cleaning the house and plotting his death
Lisa:Isn’t that what we all do?
Sometimes I’ll see Carl sitting down watching TV and if he saw the murderous look that crossed my face he would be terrified.
Lisa: I think he’s pretty much terrified all the time.
Hello, friends. Today we are going to share some quick text exchanges with you. These are all from November, 2010. Enjoy!
Marianne: Carl just said that we need to watch Eastbound and Down, and I said, “Yeah, Lisa loves that Danny McBride,” and Carl said, “Is that her secret shame hookup?”
Lisa: Tell him I can go a lot more shameful than that.
Marianne: Oh yeah, same here.
Marianne: What happened today? Is everything ok?
Lisa: Yeah. Busy as hell. Tuesdays are a real bitch.
Marianne: Oh that sucks. If it makes you feel better, Milli licked Carl’s calzone with her crotch breath when he wasn’t looking.
It sure made me crack up.
Lisa: You probably told her to do it, you meanie.
Marianne: And he’s still eating it. According to him, she only licked the grease spot in front of it. Disgusting.
Lisa: He must be real fucking hungry.
Marianne: Ha! Yeah, he’s kind of offended by this text exchange.
Lisa: Are we doing individuals, or collaborative?
Isn’t my vocabulary impressive?
Marianne: Yes, I love your vocabulary. Especially when you said that Susan’s fantasy football team blows cock. That was excellent!
Lisa: Yes, I have gotten a lot of mileage out of “blows cock.”
Lisa: Brad gets skeeved out when Cameron (my 11-month old) sits up and nurses.
Marianne: What? He’s just getting big. He sits up to eat like a big boy.
Lisa: He likes to get in crawling position and have a sip. Brad thinks it’s porny. Dude, I don’t know what kinds of porn you’ve seen but that’s troubling.
Marianne: Yeah, what is he watching?
Lisa: I don’t know. He’s always said he doesn’t like porn. I guess now it makes sense.
Marianne: I just showed Carl that crackhead dance that Jones-Drew did the other day. He was a little embarrassed for me. And MJD.
Lisa: Now show him the heroin one.
Marianne: He’ll love that. He’s very anti-drug.
Him and Nancy Regan.
That’s where he and the NFL draw the line.
Lisa: WTF. Has he ever done drugs? Because some of them are pretty good.
Marianne: No, he’s a goody two-shoes.
Marianne: But he’ll get down on some comic books, tho!
Marianne: I can’t think of anything more romantic than side-by-side bathtubs outside. Stupid Cialis commercial.
Lisa: Totally. You ever notice that there’s water everywhere in those commercials?
Marianne: Yes, what’s the deal?
Lisa: Take Cialis. Your wife’s vaj will run like a river.
That’s the subliminal message, right? Or is it just me?
Marianne: GROSS. It probably is the message. And also, no most any moment CANNOT be romantic.
Lisa: In fact, most of them can’t.
Marianne: What would work better is a hotter husband, ladies.
Lisa: Dude, Brad just asked me if I bought any Magic Shell at the grocery this morning.
In 10+ years, have I ever once bought Magic Shell? WTF?
Marianne: That chocolate stuff? That stuff is the bomb.
Lisa: Apparently Brad thinks so.
Marianne: Why does he want that? Is he going to start pouring it on everything he eats?
Maybe that way he won’t throw up your cooking anymore.
Lisa: We are leaving 6 Flags. Whip of the century.
Marianne: Oh Jesus! 6 Flags is HORRID.
Lisa: And it was packed, and chock full of douchers.
Marianne: Did it smell like candy apple flavored vomit?
Lisa: No, sewage. As usual.
Marianne: Douchers love 6 Flags.
Lisa: David Cassidy is coming in concert. Want to go?
Marianne: Only if he’s going to wear white jeans!